Eyes on the Road
by accio-avengers
Summary: Sherlock and John are stuck in a six hour car trip, and Sherlock is BORED. Fluff.


Sherlock Holmes is not the sort of person you wish to be stuck on a long trip with.  
Especially one where it's raining.

"John. John. John. John."  
"What, Sherlock? I'm driving!"  
"Sherlock, I'm bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored."  
Oh, God. I thought. Not now, please. Not while we still have five hours left of travel.  
"I don't know, Sherlock. Look out the window or something."  
"John, I've been doing that all bloody trip. Its really not all that interesting Grass, grass, grass, and, what do you know, a tree if I'm lucky. It's alright for you, you're driving."  
"Do you want to take a turn at the wheel, then?" I sighed. "Goodness knows I could do with a break."  
Sherlock snorted irritatingly.  
"I'd really rather not."  
"Well shut up and leave me be, then. I've got to keep my eyes on the road. This actually is important, Sherlock We could both be killed."  
"Really important you say, John?"  
"Yes, Sherlock. Really important."  
"Hm."

Sherlock sat back and looked out the window. I relaxed back against the headrest behind me, neck stiff from being in the same position for too long. I took a hand off the wheel and rubbed my neck, looking up from the road for an instant.  
A polite cough interrupted me.  
"Eyes on the road, John."  
Bloody Sherlock.  
"God, Sherlock. Are you going to spend the next four and a half hours making sure my driving skills are up to your unnecessarily high standard?"  
"I have absolutely nothing better to do," Sherlock muttered.

"Here." I fumbled around in the pocket next to my seat for a few seconds.  
"Keep your eyes on the road, John."  
I swallowed and calmly handed Sherlock the book I had found.  
"Read, then," I said, focusing back on the road.  
Sherlock looked at the book I had handed him in utter disgust.  
"Detective fiction?" he said ruefully.  
"Yes, Sherlock. It's all that was here. And it might do you good letting someone else solve the case for once. You can just, I don't know, follow along."  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at me and turned to the first page.  
Thank goodness.

The peace only lasted for a few minutes, however.  
"It was the brother. Clearly."  
"What?"  
"The book you gave me, John. It was the brother who did it."  
"What? How many pages have you read?"  
Sherlock flicked through the book.  
"Twenty four."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, I'm perfectly sure. See the little number John, right here?"  
Sherlock shoved the book in my face, which I promptly shoved away.  
"Keep your eyes on the road, John."  
Please.  
"I didn't mean how many stupid pages Sherlock, I meant are you sure you were correct?"  
"Quite, quite sure. Am I ever wrong?"  
Good point, Sherlock, I thought.  
"Still. Read it to the finish. See if you were as correct as you think."  
"There's no point, John. One, I am correct, and two, I get carsick if I read."

He dropped the book with a loud thump and closed his eyes.  
"I feel carsick, John."  
Oh, God.  
I didn't respond- I've learnt from experience that when Sherlock wants to annoy you, you just ignore him.  
Silence.  
"John? John?"  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
"I feel carsick."  
Being Sherlock, he managed to muster the most pitiful voice Sherlock could do, and I couldn't ignore it.  
"How so, Sherlock?"  
"I have a headache, and everything hurts."  
Ah. Just normal Sherlock problems then. Poor Sherlock.

"And I'm BORED, John! BORED BORED BORED BORED."  
The little sympathy I had went straight out the open window.  
"Try to sleep for a while, Sherlock. You'll find it may help with both the carsickness and the boredom."  
I looked across at him again.  
"Keep your eyes on the road, John."  
Muttering a curse under my breath I turned back to the road.

Fifteen minutes later I realised Sherlock had not, in fact, disrupted me. I snuck a glance over at him to see he was asleep at last, head against the window, coat turned up at his neck for comfort, breathing evenly.  
Thank goodness. Maybe now I could get some peace, too.

When I pulled up in London and Sherlock still wasn't awake, I was forced to lean over and shake him.  
"Sherlock!"  
He was alert in an instant, taking in every little detail of the surroundings as I knew he would. By the time we sat down back in 221b Baker St, we were both exhausted and utterly glad the trip was over.  
As I picked up my computer, Sherlock interrupted me.  
"This... This trip we were forced to endure... It's not ending up on your blog is it, John?"  
I hadn't thought about it yet, but It seemed likely.  
"I'd rather it didn't, John."  
Well.  
"Oh, alright, Sherlock. Here's the deal. I'll mention we had a little trip but leave out the major things, the carsickness and irritating behaviour. I'll just say you were... Generally annoying."  
Sherlock looked pained.  
"Whatever, John."  
As he threw on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck, he turned to me once more.  
"Oh, and John. One more thing."  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
"Do keep your eyes on the road."  
He winked at me and disappeared off down the stairs, leaving me to wonder how I had ever ended up with this irritating, mad, annoying flatmate called Sherlock Holmes, and why I now couldn't imagine life without him.


End file.
